


Die Lieder Ostberlins

by Basileus_Monomakhos



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Berlin (City), Cold War, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28762650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basileus_Monomakhos/pseuds/Basileus_Monomakhos
Summary: I cannot tell you what happened after this, as their story ended here: such was the last love of Ethan Steiner.
Relationships: Ethan/Jackson Whittemore
Kudos: 4





	Die Lieder Ostberlins

**Author's Note:**

> Translation in Chinese available [here](https://ppt.cc/fSlaOx).

**July 1968, East Berlin.**

Rumour had it, they're preparing to invade Czechoslovakia.

Not that Ethan cared, though. He was too young to remember the last time a German army threatened to march into Sudetenland. Maybe his neighbour, dear Frau Morrell, could tell him more, if she didn't disappear three weeks ago. Stasi took her, apparently, because she was listening to British music.

Anyway, how could they invade a fellow socialist nation?

But then again, they did invade Hungary a decade ago, that Ethan remembered.

He also remembered Aiden, scoffing at the possibility of a border wall.

"It's stupid and expensive, Eth. No rational man would do that."

Well, look how that went.

Before that, his memories was vague, but those were not pleasant ones. He and Aiden were nine-year-olds when their father was assassinated by the Polish resistance.

Mieczysław Stilinski, that's the name of the assassin, or so they told him, if he cared to believe those officers didn't invent a Polish name he can't pronounce on spot. Ethan never bothered to find the man, what's the use of it anyway? They're all pawns of a greater force, engaged in a great game, with the fate of Europe at stake.

Three years later, the Soviet army forced them out of their own house. Marienburg, now named Malbork, the home of generations after generations of Steiners since time immemorial, became a part of Poland. And all Germans—those who spoke German—belonged to Germany and should've gone back there.

They were lucky. Their uncle, Deucalion, who lived in Berlin was willing to take them in. Although Berlin was nothing more than a pile of rubble, the reconstruction had begun, and they would have a place to live there. Those who were not so lucky were forced to live on the streets, some never made to Germany alive.

From then on, they survived under the Soviet occupation together. The establishment of East Germany or the famous speech of Churchill had little impact on their life, but that fateful day did, and Ethan's life tilted violently on its own axis.

He remembered that day like yesterday. It was August 13th, 1961, a Sunday.

Uncle Deucalion's eyesight was worsening, another unwelcomed legacy of the war. So in the afternoon the day before, Aiden took him to a French doctor in Reinickendorf.

"When will you come back?" He remembered himself asking

"It's a complicated operation, so we have to stay for the night. We'll be home for breakfast tomorrow though." Aiden replied.

But on that fateful Sunday, he, and the whole world, woke up to a new Berlin.

"Ethan, where's your brother and uncle?" He was awakened by Frau Morrell banging on his door when it was barely dawn.

"Huh... Frau Morrell? They're in the French zone for the doctor, but they should be back soon. Do you need anything?"

"Oh, merciful heavens!" She exclaimed, "Ethan, they closed the border at midnight! And they're going to build a wall!"

It took him a minute to comprehend what she said, and then he took off towards Bornholmer Straße, the fastest way to the French occupation zone.

It didn't take him long to find the barbed wire blocking the street. As he was told, the border between East and West Berlin was closed, and now policemen and border guards were patrolling the area. He heard that voice on the other side of the barricade, the same voice as his.

"My twin brother, he's there, I have to get him! Let me through!"

"Comrade, the border is closed now, so please fall back, or I'll have to open fire." The border guard standing in front of him was trying to reason with him. Unfortunately, Aiden saw him then.

"I don't care! I can see him! He's right here!" He pushed the guard aside and run towards the obstacles blocking the street, "Ethan!"

"Stop right now!" Behind him, the guard raised his rifle.

"Aiden! No!" Ethan yelled.

It's too late. A bullet shot through Aiden's chest. It felt as if it shot through his own.

He knew he's alone.

And years later, at the age of 32, Ethan was a professor in _Humboldt-Universität_ , teaching classical German poetry.

Nowadays, the economy was stagnant, the Soviet control intensified, and the danger of war still looms over Europe. Stasi was more active than ever, increasingly strict in monitoring and suppressing dissidents in the entire society.

He, Ethan Steiner, son of a Nazi army officer, brother of a traitor of the revolution, with an uncle on the other side of the wall, and spend years studying in the USA, was more suspicious than ever.

It was only because of his accomplishments and reputation in scholarly circles did the university kept him employed. Barely. To keep his job, he was forbidden to contact his uncle actively. So every day, he asks the courier whether he has a letter from West Berlin. Today, the courier glanced at him and as usual, shook his head slowly.

"No, nothing from West Berlin, comrade Steiner. However, you do have a letter from Vietnam."

Ethan almost cried seeing the familiar cursive on the envelope. The postmark told him the letter was from Huế, Vietnam, while the writing style told him it's from Jackson Whittemore, his young and flamboyant lover.

But just a few months ago, the radio proudly announced that their communist ally, Vietnam captured many US marines during the battle of Huế.

He should have guessed it. Jackson is not bellicose, in fact he hates killing people, but he also craved the thrill of adventures.

He is unique and looks down upon everything he comes across. Even if he's confined in shackles and chains, he will still drag his feet forward until his death. That's why Ethan loved him. Loves him.

The yellowed paper was marred with stains, and there were several holes on it, probably because of a broken pen. And it said:

_You know very well that I'm not fond of those pretentious scholars (That is, they're not you.), but sometimes even I have to admit their sentences could express my feelings better than my barren words:_

**_I love you, so I draw these tides of men into my hands_ **

**_And write my will across the sky in stars_ **

**_To earn you freedom, the seven-pillared worthy house_ **

**_That your eyes might be shining for me_ **

**_When I come_ **

Ethan smiled fondly at the letter, he lifted his shivering hand to wipe off his tears. When he was in America, he once read this verse by T.E. Lawrence to Jackson.

"Oh, Ethan, your eyes will be shining when you come for me tonight," was Jackson's reply, his eyes glinted with mischievousness. And Ethan did, multiple times, as Jackson fucked him into the mattress.

The static noise of the radio brought him back to reality, and he picked up from where he left.

_Danny said I was crazy to love a communist, a German nonetheless. However, every time I take a look at the sky, I think of your blue eyes. Just as the sailors can't resist the temptation of the Sirens, I'd like to drown in your blue eyes every time._

_After my capture, I was not fearless, fear hanging over us like a shadow. But no, I'm not afraid of death itself, but rather than dying in a foreign land, I'm more willing to die kissing my lover._

Ethan read the letter several times, then put it in his shirt pocket, close to his right chest. This was a dangerous move. If Stasi found out about his letter from the USA, he will lose his job and could even be jailed. Perhaps under the influence of the devil-may-care American, Ethan even felt some ecstasy from his terrible imagination: he was desperate for his lover, for a desperate romance.

Chairman Walter Ulbricht was shrieking nonsense through the radio again. Ethan reached out to turn it off.

* * *

As the night fell, Ethan walked hastily along the moss-covered stone road. The gas lamp on the street glowed with a flickering yellow light. The leather boots stepped into the gravel, making a clattering sound every step he took.

Ever since he received that letter, he was unable to concentrate on his work. He tried to read _Nibelungenlied_ over and over again, but for the first time since Aiden's death, it stopped working.

It probably shouldn't have worked in the first place.

Just one block away from his apartment, someone suddenly clasped onto his wrist from the shadows. Taken off guard, he was pulled into a narrow alley with no streetlights.

The lights pouring from the apartment windows illuminate the face of his assaulter. Out of nowhere, a stray cat let out an excited chatter. Ethan's brain stopped working for a second. He stiffly reached out his hand to touch the messy brown hair of the man standing in front of him, then slammed the man against the wall roughly, and kissed him desperately.

His lover smelled youthful and fresh, and was responding to his advance enthusiastically and fiercely. The sharp canines pricked Ethan's tongue, and the taste of blood ghosted between their lips and tongues, making them even more aroused. Ethan grabbed the soft brown hair forcefully, forcing his lover to raise his head. Those eyes were glimmering with lust, all of those passion was dedicated to Ethan.

He didn't expect to experience such unbelievable a night: two hours ago, he was the youngest professor in the most prestigious university in East Germany; two hours later, he was embracing his American lover who had escaped from a Vietnamese prisoner-of-war camp, half-lit under the dim light.

This is more like an absurd dream. Ethan thought, and shivered because of the madness of this situation. He took a step back and pushed the brown-haired man away, and his lover's face morphed into an aggrieved look.

"Are you insane?! Why are you even here?"

Jackson blinked in confusion as Ethan swatted his hand away.

"I entered from Romania. Danny got me this." He waved the Austrian passport in his hand.

Ah, yes, Danny Mahaelani, electronics researcher in Los Alamos, Jackson's best friend. And they should be, a pair of romantic idealists, or naïve lunatics, depending on who you ask.

Did he mention they both love men? Man like him.

"I thought you're still in Vietnam." Ethan said softly, caressing the small scars on his lover's forehead.

"Escaped to Hong Kong three months ago, came back to America two months ago. I got a useless medal and was honourably discharged. I'm a civilian again."

"And then? Are you going to waste your hard-earned civilian life in East Berlin?"

"You sound just like Sourwolf." Jackson rolled his eyes affectionately, complaining about his former captain in the marines while closing the distance between them again.

Jackson looked like he had lost a lot of weight. The old leather jacket that fits before became a bit loose. His face already had the rough edges and corners that a man should have, and his profile looked like a delicately carved statue. Ethan stretched out his arm to touch the weathered face, but withdrew his hand swiftly because of some unknown fear.

"Don't you want to kiss me, _Der Genosse_?"

Ethan's heart skipped a beat, but he remained silent. Once upon a time, during some nights, under the urge of alcohol or hormones, he let himself be lost in the imagination of his lover far away in the United States. The purest passion he brought from his hometown in California, his soft brown hair, every frivolous tease and every sincere confession, the power of their kisses... years after he left the United States, his young lover, tortured by the war, stood in front of him, alive, as if he's the only light in this dim alley.

But then, he was reminded of their current situation. They're not accepted here, two men, an American ex-marine and a communist professor. He shouldn't have pressed his lover on the cold wall and kissed him right there. The secret police would appear at any time. Residents who live here can see them through the windows. They should not indulge in this erotic and emotional atmosphere at the expense of their lives.

"No, not here," Ethan finally said, his own voice sounded foreign to him, "Let's go to my apartment.

* * *

The light in the apartment flickered annoyingly and then went out completely. Ethan irritatedly pressed the switch for a few more times, but the light never went back on. Outside the window was the dark night, borderless and lifeless.

After he settled the restless young American down, Ethan lit his kerosene lamp and cleaned the small fireplace. That bucket of damp coal may not last an entire night. He wrinkled his nose, and his hands, tainted by coal dust, wiped his face carelessly, half of his face was covered with dirty stripes in the end. He managed to start the fire, threw away the box of black tea that had become damp and mouldy, and had to boil plain water on the stove.

Welcome to the mess that's his life.

"Doesn't being a communist party member bring you any convenience? The propaganda posters back home often say that the members of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union occupy the country's means of production and Khrushchev is the biggest capitalist in the Soviet Union." Jackson asked, his legs stretched comfortably.

Ethan laughed softly. He wanted to tell Jax that those propagandas were merely brainwashing materials turning people against the Soviet Union, but stopped himself in time.

Who's to say he's not the brainwashed one?

Instead he said nothing. Not that Jackson minded, though. The American boy had never seen a fireplace before, throwing coal pieces into it for fun. Then he suddenly thought of something, and took out a rose from the inner pocket of that old jacket. His cheek darkened under the light of the fire, and he put the rose to his lips and kissed it, "Lydia once told me, to court a European you should prepare a poem and a rose, and play the violin downstairs, and before the secret police rush to catch me, you will throw down the rope and pull me up. But I can't play the violin..."

Ethan glanced around him. The only window of the apartment was covered with thick curtains. Despite the wind and darkness outside, his apartment was warm and bright because of the burning fireplace. All the hustle and bustle around him disappeared, and his world was left with a burning fireplace and his beautiful lover, who smelled as sweet and fresh as a rose.

He silently unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, took aside the withering rose in Jackson's hand, and began to suck those soft lips he craved. His lover tasted like the freezing water of the Oder in winter, or the moist air flowing over Lake Michigan in summer.

Jackson pushed him on his bed, and gently licked his nipples. He moaned loudly. Three years. It had been three years since he last kissed Jackson. And now that they're here together, how much rationality could he have?

He wiped his eyes, surprised at the dampness on his hand. His lover gently and cautiously encircled him in his arms, his calloused palms wiped away the tears, sharp canines gently gnawed at the arteries in his neck and wrist, a deeper desire appeared in his eyes.

Jackson unbuttoned their shirts and threw them aside. His muscular torso moved on top of Ethan's, his soft tongue pushed his lips open again, wrapped around Ethan's as if to please him. Ethan could feel every inch of muscle that was pressed against him and the burning body temperature of Jackson. He tremblingly stretched out his hand to unbuckle his belt.

The polyester fibre carpet emitted a terrible musty smell, mixed with their pheromone, and the burnt smell of coal.

His young and handsome lover reached into his trousers. While teasing his balls, his flexible fingers began to explore his hole. Ethan whimpered, subconsciously trying to avoid those intruding fingers, but then was easily subdued. Jackson bit his ear gently, his voice was soft and slightly trembling, "I miss you every time I look at the sky, it always reminds me of your beautiful eyes..."

Ethan grabbed his lover’s messy hair, his brain, overcame by pleasure, making him speak in German (Maybe it was Latin, or some meaningless syllables, he could no longer tell.). He tried to think about how to translate his ideas into English, but his brain failed him again. So he settled on grinding himself on Jackson's bulge, that's a common language in any nation.

Jackson removed their pants, and shifted themselves so they're almost chest to chest. At the same time, he raised Ethan's legs over his shoulders, so that Ethan's body was almost folded in half. It hurt a bit. After all, he's not as young as he was, spending an entire weekend on sex, his body of course was not as flexible. Their cocks blushed against each other, both silky and solid at the same time. Ethan's breath hitched.

Jackson's fingers slowly slid into him. He shifted slightly, feeling their cocks rubbed together and it turned on every nerve in his body. Then Jackson pushed his fingers in ever further, turning them around until it hit Ethan's prostate. Ethan arched his back, gasping in surprise and pleasure.

Then he tilted his head up to kiss Jackson mouth, down his neck, biting and sucking at his nipples, as wave after wave of intense sensation ripped through his body. His body fell out of his control, quivering on the hits of pleasure rolling through it.

"I want you in me, Jax." he finally managed to say, his voice rough and lustful.

"As you wish." Jackson breathed. His hand caressing Ethan's body, up to his back, down to his thighs, gently rubbing his ass.

Ethan then felt Jackson pressing into him, pleasure began to lock up his body. He curled his back and all but screamed into the pillow. He rammed himself back on Jackson's cock, and it punched waves of ceasing pleasure through him. Jackson's warm hands were gripped his hips, so tightly that Ethan knew it's going to bruise.

His cock was bobbing underneath him, rock hard and flushed purple, dripping all over the sheets. Jackson leaned forward and breathed at his cock head, while thrusting himself forward at Ethan's prostate.

And that sent Ethan over the edge. His entire body arched back, shuddering and clenching as he came untouched, spilling hot seeds all over their bodies.

Then Jackson came inside him, filling him up even further and his cock twitched again, dribbling out even more cum.

Jackson pulled at Ethan's shoulder, turning him around so their noses were almost touching.

"I love you, Eth." He heard the man said.

"I never stopped loving you, Jax."

* * *

"Run away with me."

In the latter half of the night, the young American found a bottle of vodka near the fireplace. In East Germany, where the economy was on the verge of collapse, vodka was almost cheaper than water. The worsening situation was forcing ordinary people to escape reality. What can be simpler and more effective than drowning themselves in alcohol?

Jax poured himself a shot, frowning his brows as the pungent flavour of alcohol washed down his throat. The vodka tasted like high-proof industrial alcohol, and he felt like he had swallowed a ball of fire. The German who had been quietly leaning on him suddenly turned his face around and kissed him on the mouth, sucking the remaining vodka away.

The blanket draped over Ethan slipped down, revealing his tanned shoulders. The dirty blond hair turned into an even darker metallic colour in the light of the fireplace. He snatched the bottle of vodka from Jackson, gave him a kiss mixed with alcohol, and licked the vodka droplets from his chin to his chest.

Vodka was accidentally spilt onto the bodies of the two lovers, and the heat from the fireplace evaporated the liquid layer by layer. They're just an ordinary couple, with the long days ahead of them.

Jackson clasped Ethan's shoulders tightly, and whispered into his ears, "I'm serious. Run away with me."

"To where? West Berlin? California?"

Jackson nodded, his chin rubbed against Ethan's.

"Anywhere you want, Ethan. I love you."

"They laid landmines along the wall, Jax."

"We could leave through Czechoslovakia, or Yugoslavia."

Ethan didn't reply. His family—what remained of it—and his friends, most important of all his love lived on the other side of the iron curtain. It had been seven years since he last saw his uncle.

His lover embraced him with strong but scarred arms, and his bright eyes looked mesmerising and charming under the dim light, just like when they first met each other in that dorm room. If they leave East Berlin, they won't need to hide in the dark as they did now, just because one of them was an American and the other was a German communist.

Ethan cast his eyes down. He could leave, of course, and broke all attachments to East Berlin and the DDR, get away from the lifeless and divided East Germany under the iron curtain. He has dedicated his youth to Germany, just like his father, and imprinted his own name into the world academia. He considered himself worthy of a patriot.

But how could he just walk away? From his life, from his city, from his country? Yes, the same life, city and country killed Aiden, but at least he was here, he's alive. They say you can't understand freedom without living without it, and Ethan liked to think he knew more than Jackson did. He knew his soul was free here in Germany, not in America. His body would be free there, but the shallow consumerism there would suffocate his mind like toxic air, just like it suffocated literature, language and knowledge. If he really wanted America, he would have stayed three years ago. But he didn't.

If he did leave, though, he would be gripped by guilt, knowing he's living a life that Aiden could've had. He wanted solace, serenity and spiritual fulfilment, and those were something America can't offer. Even though he'll be with his lover, after all those years of separation, he'll never truly be happy there.

"I won't leave East Berlin, Jax, please understand."

He rubbed his eyes discreetly, almost feeling desperate for the anguish and loneliness he was about to face alone, but he won't regret it. There's always something more important than some momentary romance.

Jackson nodded slowly but said nothing, and only kissed him tenderly. But Ethan knew he understood.

They separated in front of the Baby Wall before sunrise, sharing one last kiss between them, Ethan stood silently as the love of his life walked away from him hesitantly, until he couldn't see the leaving silhouette anymore through the darkest night before the dawn. Jackson's safe now, he'll be on the train to Prague before anyone knew he's been here, and Ethan couldn't ask more than that.

It was then when a ray of sunlight pierced the dark clouds and shone generously on the battered German land, bathing the Brandenburg Gate in a golden hue.

At least, the sun rises earlier here. Ethan thought.

The great machine of history was humming around him, and he wanted to see what the future may hold for his fatherland.

**_FIN._ **


End file.
